


Recovering, And So They Helped

by LemonPetitFour



Series: The Forming of an Elf Built of Wrath [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Archery, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nightmares, Recovery, budding attraction, mild panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonPetitFour/pseuds/LemonPetitFour
Summary: Iorveth is recovering from the loss of his eye, and between no longer being able to use his bow and nightmares that he wouldn't talk about, Ciaran and Cedric did what they could to help him.-Geralt recognizes that Iorveth is still grieving the loss of his second-in-command and healer, and tries to help in his own way.
Relationships: Cedric/Ciaran aep Easnillien/Iorveth, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Iorveth
Series: The Forming of an Elf Built of Wrath [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191905
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Recovering, And So They Helped

Iorveth losing his eye had been a hard change with an arduous recovery. It had taken weeks for Iorveth to feel comfortable and without pain, his left eye adjusting to the strain of being his only visual input. But Iorveth had changed a lot as he recovered.

Ciaran and Cedric both noticed that their commander was more on edge. He no longer let people sit to the right of him, trying to keep people in his now limited line of sight. And he was quicker to cruelty. When once he would hear a dh’oine out and give them a chance to leave their forest, he now ordered them to be shot down without any word.

Ciaran didn’t mind and nor did many of the other Scoia’tael, one less dh’oine to hunt them down later. But it was a testament to Iorveth’s shortened patience and numbed empathy.

It had taken ages for them to get Iorveth to pick up a weapon again, or even his flute. The commander had been in a rut over his new scars, self-confidence plummeting. He had once been a spectacularly gorgeous elf, and now saw himself as a disfigured creature. The revelation left him bedridden with grief, not that he would admit to anyone out loud that that was the reason for his new somberness.

Of course, Ciaran and Cedric felt no different towards their partner. They had gotten him a red handkerchief to tie around his head, cover the mark as much as they could. Iorveth had immediately cut a hole into it for his right ear. Thankfully, it had seemed to bring the commander more comfort, allowing himself to be around his elves again.

They had finally gotten Iorveth to pick up his swords a few weeks after the loss of his eye. His handling of the blades wasn’t as perfect as it once had been, but the learning curve to become reacquainted with it was easy enough.

Iorveth had yet to remaster his bow even weeks later. And it was not helping with the commander’s mood. His depth perception was now severely lacking. He knocked things over, ran into things, and now couldn’t hit a target to save his life.

“It’s just a matter of practicing, Iorveth. Finding what works for you now.” Cedric said from somewhere on the sideline, watching Ciaran set up more targets for Iorveth. The commander scowled, shooting the elf a dirty look. Cedric raised his hands placatingly. It was their fourth day coming out like this, trying to get Iorveth used to archery again.

“It’s a matter of not being weak and being able to fight with my units, Cedric,” He nocked an arrow as Ciaran set up the last target, letting the arrow fly at the first target. And hitting a few feet to the side. Iorveth scowled deeper.

“A commander can’t be helpless while his people fight.” He hissed, nocking another arrow. He shot, missing spectacularly. And again. And on the last target. All four left unmarked and unbothered. Ciaran frowned, collecting the arrows and bringing them back to Iorveth.

He said nothing, handing off the arrows. Another round. And a third. Not a single target was hit, and Iorveth wasn’t getting any closer. The sun was above them now, getting in Iorveth’s eye, warming him while also making the situation worse. Ciaran collected the arrows again, coming over to Iorveth’s side. They could tell his frustration was about to bubble over, unsurprised when Iorveth unceremoniously dropped his bow and turned around, leaving the clearing.

Cedric sighed as Ciaran bent to pick up the bow.

“It’s not going to get better if he keeps storming off like this.” Cedric said after a moment, coming over to stand with Ciaran. The second-in-command shook his head.

“It’s not going to get better at all, Cedric,” He said, turning to the healer, “He’s not trying to do anything new at all, he just keeps trying the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result,” Ciaran starts walking back to camp, gesturing for Cedric to follow.

“He needs to try to overcorrect his aim. He already corrected his swordplay style and is able to fight almost as well as before the injury. But it’s up-close combat, not as hard to aim when someone is right up on you. The only issue was having to watch his right side more.” Ciaran explained, Cedric nodding along.

“He’s stubborn, we both know that. He took great pride in his bowmanship and probably doesn’t want to admit that his tried-and-true style from before no longer works.” Cedric offered. Ciaran nodded.

“Stubborn he is,” Ciaran shook his head, almost fond, “If my mother knew that I had paired with a Scoia’tael commander with a temper such as his and not some gentle flower, she would have had a fit.” Cedric laughed, knowing his parents would have felt the same.

“I would think you even him out Ciaran, though you have a temper of your own at times.” Cedric said, nudging his arm.

"And you, the most moderate of us three.” Ciaran said back, stepping over a spot blooming with lavender. Cedric smiled. They were reaching their cave, sure to find their sulking commander huddled in there. They stepped in, looking around to find… no one. No one on their makeshift bed of blankets, no one at their short—whittled table, no one sitting back by the few books they stored on a dip in the wall. The two shared a look.

An elf woman peeked in, having watched the two entered.

“Iorveth is down by the waterfall. I’m sure you’re looking for him after the mood he came back in.” She said.

“Thank you Avare, we’ll see to him.” Ciaran said. The elf woman nodded to them, then went about her day, a basket of berries on her hip. Ciaran and Cedric trekked down to the waterfalls, bringing three cloths with them, knowing that Iorveth always forgot one.

They chatted as they went down, brushing hands as they walked. Things had been calm lately, no dh’oine daring to step into their forests after the harsh deaths others had faced. Even the nekkers seemed to have calmed down, building their nests far from the elve’s camp.

And of course, there he was. His clothes were laid on a nearby tree stump. He was running his hands through tangled hair, far too rough. Cedric rolled his eyes, knowing they were going to have to brush and braid it now that their commander had made a mess of his hair.

Iorveth looked up at them, frowning minutely before turning away, facing the waterfall. The two stripped down, slipping into the water. Might as well get cleaned up while they were here. They made their way over to Iorveth, washing down their sweaty skin, getting rid of coatings of dirt.

“Are you going to chide me or just bathe.” Iorveth snarled, half-turning to face them. Cedric frowned.

“We aren’t here to treat you like a child, Iorveth.” Ciaran said, moving closer to rub some dried mud off of Iorveth’s side. The commander paused, accepting the touch.

"You’re going through a hard change Iorveth, we can’t fault you for getting upset.” Cedric tried. He already had his hands in Iorveth’s hair, untangling knots with his fingers.

“That’s no excuse,” He hissed, pulling away from the touches, “I can’t be a drag on you all, I need to lead. Set an example. I can’t be useless with something I once excelled in.” He growled, anger seeping into his face.

“It is an excuse. Do you fault me for my headaches? For when I’m in so much pain from them I just need to lie down?” Cedric asked, trying to turn the tables.

“That’s not the same and you know it, Cedric.” Iorveth snarled, stalking his way out of the water. He looked around, grabbing the extra cloth Ciaran had brought and drying himself off.

“It isn’t, but it’s similar. You won’t blame me for something I can’t control, and we extend the same courtesy to you.” Iorveth frowned harder, throwing on his layers of clothes, tying the handkerchief around his head even with his unmade hair.

“Look, Iorveth, we think we know why your archery has yet to improve, while you’ve adjusted to most other things.” Ciaran said, following after Iorveth, likewise drying off and redressing. Cedric was the last to follow them out, wringing out his wet hair and braiding the few strands he liked out of his face.

Iorveth started walking off once more, not listening. Ciaran groaned, hopping after him as he wiggled into his leggings.

“You not listening to advice isn’t going to help you Iorveth!” He said, rounding up and walking in front of the commander, facing him. “As your partners, we only want to help you.” Ciaran said. And that got Iorveth to slow. Cedric caught up to them, walking alongside Iorveth, looking at him expectantly.

“Fine. What was your suggestion then.” Iorveth caved.

-

Ciaran watched Iorveth, seeing him make an effort to fix his aim. It was a struggle, Ciaran not sure how to help other than guide and support, but their commander was getting better. He was hitting the targets, which was a massive improvement.

He still wasn’t hitting dead center, but a hit at all was better than none. Cedric had congratulated Iorveth on his first few marks. Iorveth still looked frustrated, focusing hard on his targets, but was much more relaxed. Pleased with his own improvement, feeling that he could at least pull his weight with this.

“Enough. Let’s head back.” Iorveth said, lowering his bow. Night was creeping in, and Iorveth had a harder time navigating in the darkness now. Another thing to work on later.

They went back to the main section of the Scoia’tael camp. They had food for dinner today, some of the members having hunted good game earlier that morning and berry bushes coming into season and blossoming. The three ate together, mingling with their other members. Everyone seemed in relatively good spirits, a rarity nowadays. So they reveled in it while they could, one of the elves cracking open an old bottle of wine or two to share amongst one another.

The three went back to their cave, slightly tipsy and more giggly than any of them would ever admit. Cedric laughed at something Iorveth said, the commander muttering under his breath with a wicked grin. They slipped into their cave, getting comfortable in the pile of old blankets that served as their bed. Ciaran leaned over to press a kiss to Cedric’s jaw, then Iorveth’s cheek. Cedric smiled, returning the affection, Iorveth just humming contentedly between the two.

-

The progress on Iorveth’s bowmanship got better and better. Iorveth improved his muscle memory with his new way of aiming, adjusting so that he hit the heart of the targets each time. Phantom pain still bothered Iorveth, but he seemed to swallow it down around his units, keeping up an air of confidence and health that he didn’t always feel. But he was improving, handling it.

But the nightmares were… bad.

“Iorveth! Iorveth.” Cedric whispered, shaking his commander. Iorveth bolted up from where he had been restlessly sleeping, breathing labored. He clutched at his chest, a hand flying up to his scar, eye darting around frantically as he tried to see his surroundings in the overwhelming dark. Cedric was careful to keep himself in the elf’s line of sight, as best as could be seen in the barely there moonlight.

“Breath, you’re safe. We’re in the forest, home.” Cedric said. He grabbed Iorveth’s hand, letting the commander squeeze back and use the grip to steady himself. Iorveth got ahold of his breathing quickly, used to the distress by now, going limp once he had calmed enough. He was bent forward, forehead resting on Cedric’s shoulder. The commander was in a cold sweat, shaking just barely as his body wound down.

Ciaran was watching from Iorveth’s right side, not sure how to help but trying to be a supportive bystander. He was the one who had woken Cedric, shoving the healer awake when he noticed the look of pain on Iorveth’s face.

This happened often now, and not once had Iorveth opened up on what he dreamt of, what he saw. Just sat quietly afterwards, let Cedric and Ciaran dote on him, and either went back to sleep or laid there in the blankets until the sun reached the opening of their cave.

Cedric pulled Iorveth to lay more comfortably against their bed, covering him up, grabbing a loose end of a blanket to wipe sweat from the commander’s forehead.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Ciaran asked, always extending the offer. Iorveth shook his head, wrapping an arm around Ciaran to pull the elf down to lay against him. Ciaran frowned, but went as directed by Iorveth’s shaking arm. Cedric let Iorveth keep his silence. He’d have to talk about it at some point, to at least get whatever weighed down his mind off his chest.

For now, they listened to him breath far steadier than he had been earlier. The commander had closed his eye, so hopefully this was a night where he would be able to get some more sleep before morning. He pulled Cedric down too, having his partners curl up next to him, a simple comfort.

Cedric waited patiently, making sure Iorveth was good and truly safe to sleep again, before he let himself drift off as well.

-

Cedric braided Iorveth’s hair often now. He needed to keep the strands out of the commander’s face, and Iorveth had never been fond of braiding his own hair. So now, about once a week, Iorveth laid with his head in Cedric’s lap and let the man comb out knots and style it in a way that would sit comfortably under the handkerchief he now always wore.

“You know, your hair wouldn’t be this bad if you took off the handkerchief sometimes. At least while we’re in the cave.” Cedric said, working on a particularly stubborn knot, seeing the way the sunlight played on the commander’s rugged features. Iorveth scoffed.

“And risk scaring the life out of one of our elves? I can’t risk members running out on us so readily.” He said, a grin sneaking it’s way onto his face. Cedric frowned; both he and Ciaran disapproved of the negative humor. Everyone in these units adored Iorveth, and so did many other elves out there. He was one of the best up and coming commanders, one of the last few real aen seidhe, and if people heard him speak of himself in such a manner they would be distraught.

“You’re still quite handsome, Iorveth.” Ciaran piped up, looking away from the wooden sculpture he had been whittling at from where he leant against a nearby rock. Iorveth raised his brow at him.

“He’s right, you are still one of the most beautiful elves we’ve met.” Cedric says, pausing to run careful hands across Iorveth’s cheeks, a gentle touch. Iorveth scowls at them both.

“Love has made the both of you fools.” He said, closing his eye, Cedric going back to finishing a rather nice braid. He heard Ciaran mutter to himself. Iorveth sat up, looking at the elf.

“What did you say?” The commander asked. Ciaran looked up again.

“I said ‘you’re one to talk’.” He repeated, going back to whittling. Iorveth scowled, murmuring to himself in a way that was surely meant to come off angry but was far too fond to faze either of them.

-

Geralt strode up to him, pulling him out of his reminiscing. The witcher held that curious look he often did when about to butt into things that were none of his business.

“Thinking?” The witcher asked, sitting himself down beside Iorveth. They were in Vergen, Iorveth holed away in the house he was temporarily using, all of the other people living with him for the time out and about. Probably enjoying themselves at a tavern for the first time in ages, or mingling with the other non-humans.

Iorveth nodded, giving no explanation or true answer. Geralt made a face.

“What about?” He asked in his awkward way. He clearly wasn’t used to doing this. Dandelion had probably been poking and prodding at the vatt’ghern to talk with the commander more, if not for any reason better than getting new ballad material.

“Old friends.” Iorveth said. He closed his eye, resting his head against the wall behind him.

“Friends? Or..?” Iorveth sighed.

“You spend far too much time with that frivolous bard. You’re getting talkative.” Iorveth said. He peered an eye open, seeing Geralt looking at him expectantly.

“My partners. Though of course neither of them are around anymore.” Iorveth said. It still hurt, hurt so deeply that he had lost them both so fast. He had had them for so long and then he lost one. Not permanently, at least comforted by knowing he was still out there. But then they were truly taken from this world, and so brutally.

“They cared about you,” Geralt said, awkward once more, “Ciaran begged me to help you. And Cedric was pained to mention the Scoia’tael, but still spoke highly of you.” Iorveth took in the information. He had always wondered if Cedric regretted his decision to leave.

“I don’t need comforted, Gwynbleidd.” Iorveth said quietly, voice lacking any aggression. He was tired, exhausted emotionally. Geralt hummed.

“Wanted to offer what I could anyways.” He said. Iorveth didn’t respond, and the two sat quietly together.

“Would you uh, would you want me to braid your hair?” Geralt asked. Iorveth turned to look at him, incredulous. Geralt startled at the speed that Iorveth looked at him.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to. I just remember, on the barge, you said Cedric used to braid your hair for you. And uh, you’re probably in for a new braiding anyways.” Geralt kept looking away, not meeting Iorveth’s gaze for long. The elf almost said no, berating the witcher. What a stupid thing to ask, what an intimate thing to ask…

“Fine.” Iorveth said instead, undoing his handkerchief. He started pulling out braids, uncareful and lacking any sense of gentleness. Geralt floundered for a moment before moving to help, hands far more caring than Iorveth’s.

Finally his hair was laid around his shoulders, fully undone, and as combed out as Geralt could get it. And then the witcher started braiding. Iorveth could tell he had done this before, which was curious. What use did a witcher have with such a skill?

He braided the hair loosely, which was impractical, but the touch was pleasant. Iorveth found himself drawn to his other commanders, silently seeking touch that they were willing to give as he worked through his grief as best he could. Now wasn’t the time to be grieving, so he did what he could to keep it down when he had to. But the feelings burst forward in his fleeting downtime.

And now, the careful hands of a man often described as a monster was almost enough to break him down. But he wouldn’t, not when he barely let himself cry in front of his past partners. So he just let himself relax into the touch, closed his eye, ignoring the pain in the back of his throat.

He hadn’t even realized when Geralt had finished, handing Iorveth his handkerchief to put back on. The commander’s eye fluttered open, hand raising to touch at the wavy braids. He turned, looking at a mirror that leaned up against the wall across from him. It truly was impractical, too beautiful and delicately done to fit on the head of a murderer. But Iorveth just put his handkerchief on, turning to Geralt.

“You’re better than I would guess, Gwynbleidd.” Iorveth offered. Geralt shrugged.

“I’ve had some practice.” He responded. The two sat quietly together. The fire was crackling softly, filling in the silence.

“Do you want to go to the tavern?” Geralt asked after a bit, fidgeting with his hands, “I think Dandelion is playing tonight, and even if he’s a fool he can really get the crowd going.” Iorveth frowned, looking at the vatt’ghern. In truth, he didn’t want to, he wanted to sit around and continue moping.

But… Cedric and Ciaran would have had his hide for letting himself sulk.

So Iorveth stood up, adjusting his belt as he brushed off any dust that clung to him. Geralt stared at him, confused.

“Well, are you coming? You invited me after all, dh’oine.” He said, offering his hand with a sneer that held no true aggression. Geralt rolled his eyes, taking the hand and standing.

“Not a dh’oine. Let’s go.” He said, looking as excited as a mountain of a man such as himself could. He held the door for Iorveth, and the two slipped out into the night, following the melodic voice of their semi-favorite bard and the rowdy cheers of tavern-goers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed, I really enjoy writing these.  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated.


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